Although I'd planned to visit United States ever since I read the autobiography of Lee Iacocca, it would take me almost a decade to finally do so – a time a little more long and delayed than expected. Procrastination was not a key word – definitely not, for it was not in my capacity to visit America when desired. There were some financial, academic and social obligations which prioritized itself before anything else. Later when all those concerns were satisfied, the days that followed were occupied with arduous preparation of GRE and applying to various universities in United States. Thanks to some universities which did not offer me assistantships, some universities which did but were not of good repute, and my obstinate boss who would fraught my time schedule with different venture every month, the process prolonged for a couple of years. But the actual decision to apply for a visa was made within seconds, after a nasty argument with my boss which were more festooned with unwarranted diatribes. I still had an I-20 from a university where my wife’s brother-in-law taught, a modest bank balance, two motorcycles which I’d soon sell and some shares which would sell out soon. My other sources of immediate finance were my own younger brother, my father and my aunts in California. What the heck – I resigned that very moment and flung it at my boss’s desk shocking him beyond his disbelief. The best part of this entire showdown was; I walked away in style, not even bothering to collect my salary and benefits. The young and pretty receptionist was so impressed of my magnanimity that she almost clapped her hands as I walked out the door. "Sir, Director saab, made a check for your salary and benefits, you should accept it, it is almost ninety thousand rupees", my immediate subordinate, a young engineer named Dinesh appeared at my door steps the other day. Both me and my wife accepted the check, me - a little reluctantly and she – with celerity. After all, it was not an ordinary sum. "Are you going to United States sir?" he inquired. I nodded. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The visa officer was a female who just had a heated discussion with a local movie actor, the dispute was over granting visas to three members of his crew, traveling to Boston to perform on a diversity program. Mr Actor, however was granted a visa and was now seated next to me, mumbling something in rage which was not audible. And as if the timing couldn’t have been more perfect, she called my name without more ado. I had heard stories about the fate of students synchronized with the temperament of visa officers to be eligible to travel abroad and was now nervously walking towards her with much despair. Her temperament now was beyond reconciliation which unanimously construed an outward rejection. And just like miracles that do happen sometimes, I was granted a visa to study in United States after cursory interrogation. I was so flabbergasted; I failed to react like a normal person. I sat down in a chair breathing heavily. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The two suitcases almost exploded with clothing and gifts as I set them aside, after having measured them a numerous times on a small weighing machine. I lost count of both the expenditure and number of people who had invited me to dine with them. I had been a zombie for past two weeks. There were three phone calls every twenty minutes from friends and families wishing me luck and hoping to hear from me soon. I must disclose I had not heard from half of them over a decade. I had demanded to travel to the airport alone, to avoid any unnecessary escorts which would only beef up the traffic, agonizing an already flustered police officer, and to avoid tearful goodbyes, ones that I dreaded to see. My family and friends complied with the demand, but did not stop themselves to visit my place and bid me a heartfelt goodbye. I felt there were more people in my house than in the streets of Asan, I also felt I was being crucified. My wife and I hadn’t talked much that morning; it would simply evoke unnecessary tears. Despite all our assurance that she would visit United States the following year, my dear wife was still disconcerted. She too believed in stories about the visa officers alike many of us. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The taxi sped at a top speed as soon as the driver drove out the gate, as if a further delay would produce more tears. He was more anticipatory than I thought, I’d reward him with every single penny of Nepalese currency in my pocket. I wiped my crimson tika with a white kerchief unwillingly, smearing my forehead all over. It was the last of my mother’s token of love and affection, I almost burst into tears, but the tika had to go, it would soon be all over my shirt if I didn’t wipe it off. I felt like a hypocrite. The taxi driver looked at the three hundred rupees bills and then at me, rushing to hold my hands and shake it with vehemence as if I were his brother who had been lost and found. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Police inspector Gajendra Basnet, an officer stationed in Tribhuvan International airport and a friend of mine was the only person to see me off. He checked me in within seconds with a flight class upgraded as Business. It only took me seconds to realize he terrorized the Thai airlines officers along with the small stores inside the terminal. As we were sipping a 'free' coke while ogling pretty flight attendants outside the duty free shop at the second floor, the departure announcement was made. "Don't worry, they are not leaving without you". Gajendra said as if he owned the airline. "I can get you a few miniature versions of black label for transit if you want" he said reaching out for my hand carry. I declined, I did not want to be inebriated and miss my flight to Tokyo. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The business class was much roomy than I thought, I was seated along the row at the window side sipping Gin and Tonic. There were five more people, sitting elegantly attired in black and gray suits, with an aura of a corporate being. The flight attendants rushed to their assistance, completely ignoring me, they all knew I had been lucky to board there. It was my second visit to Bangkok in two years and everything seemed to have changed, the duty free shops were relocated and the day room was owned by some other company. The only thing that did not change was the price; it was as high as usual. The only trouble you'd run into when traveling to United States after 9/11 was you were merely considered a commodity, which was subjected to be frisked, stripped, chewed and spewed. I was not subjected to any of those, but the hostility of Thai Custom officials who unreasonably asked to validate my identity before boarding to Tokyo infuriated me. This time it was an economy class, you cannot get lucky forever. I was sandwiched between an obese thai gentleman and a teenage girl in the middle row. The man snore with accelerating resonance, which would suddenly go off after a few minutes; only to be started yet again. The teenager was a Japanese Girl, who was busy reading a book which I would have considered Chinese otherwise had I not seen her reading it. I closed my eyes in desperation; that was the only action in my capacity then. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The white glacier of mount Fuji which I accidentally saw through one of the aircraft windows affirmed the proximity of Tokyo. The plane would soon land within minutes at Narita. I’d then have to scurry to find a connecting flight, the transit time was a little too little to hang around and enjoy whatever could be seen of Japan. I was almost frisked by an officer who looked a little like Ken Wantabe. If are unaware of his existence, I do not blame you, I did not know either until I watched "The Last Samurai". He gestured me towards the departure lounge politely and then started searching other gentleman who happened to be of Muslim Origin. Poor him. It was almost dusk when I boarded the aircraft, I was supposed to be airborne on this large Northwest airline monster for eight hours en route to San Francisco. A Filipino woman was reading Cosmopolitan as I sat beside her, the other seat would remain empty throughout the flight. She spoke American with a thick accent, thicker than mine. Alike me it was her first visit to United states. Her daughter was graduating the following week from San Jose State. A flight attendant who looked like a tanned version of Martha Stewart served us some cranberry juice and chicken. Miss Phillipines insisted on having some brandy, and went to sleep immediately upon finishing. I remained awake for the rest of the night, I was about to meet my cousins who were born and raised in america, there were some I'd never seen. I had no idea if I was a most welcomed cousin or a punk from Hickville, I was soon to figure it out. Miss Phillipines woke several times, frightened to death, when the plane ran into air pockets. Everytime she woke up, she’d drink some water from a tiny bottle and then go back to sleep. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The first gleam of illumination that hit my eyes was that of a picturesque and grandiose Golden Gate Bridge, standing tall over the bay, complemented by another bay bridge in its esteem. I had seen several pictures of the bridge in movies, books and post cards, one during night, one amidst fog, one during sunny afternoons and one early morning. I had seen it from all angles, from Lombard, from Alcatraz, from fisherman’s Wharf and up above from the bay. My enthusiasm was evident, the thrill of touching the red cast iron sprinted my heartbeat. I closed my eyes when the wheels touched the tarmac, the jolt widened the eyes of Miss Filipina for a second but retained its normal size once she realized we had landed safely. I was the last person to board out of the aircraft, I was not in a hurry anymore. I felt like a Christopher Columbus himself, for I was all set to discover America my own way. Ahead lied miseries that were unforeseen, America was after all not a land of cakes and ale these days. But I had accomplished one mission in life – coming to America.